Injuries
by Gabriezzu
Summary: When Christine suffers a small injury, it's up to Erik to help her, even if that requires more self-control than he ever thought he could have. Leroux-based. Smut. Rated M for a reason! Dub-Con.


**Warning:** Dub con! If you do not like that, please do not read it, thank you! Rated M for a reason;)

 **-0-**

It was his fault. His, his, and only _his fault._

He should have known better. Christine was divine; an angel of flesh and blood with a heart that shined in gold as much as his own horrible eyes did in the dark. But oh, his Christine was also so delicate! He had forgotten, so foolishly forgotten, about her for a second –just a second, Erik swore!- in the dark of the tunnels of the cellars. His distracted hand had let go of her slender waist in a moment that he could not even recall, as his clever mind had begun to knit the sweet notes of the sound of her laugh from earlier into the most beautiful and blissful of songs!

His scrawny fingers had twitched at his sides in their blind need for the tiles of his beloved organ and had not noticed the absence of his beautiful, soon-to-be bride until he reached the threshold of his home.

She was his _future wife_ ; he _should know better!_

Erik went back over his own steps, searching for Christine in the darkness of the cellars. He found her on the floor, her poor leg unable to hold her up without a heartbreaking whimper escaping her lips. He did not know how long it had been since he lost and found her, and though his keen, nearly-inhuman eyes could have easily looked at his pocket watch in the dark, his heart could take no more guilt.

The only thing that calmed a little the intense loathing he felt for himself at that moment, was the clean, tearless face of his Christine. She was not crying over his stupid mistake; his precious girl always so brave!

But that did not lessen his anger.

Erik took her in his arms all the way to the house on the lake, deaf to her small complaints and his own answers mute with the weight of his anger. He knew her well, and she was not even attempting to struggle. She must have truly hurt herself. A knot formed in his throat at the thought in a mixture of sadness, anger, and shame. It was all his fault.

"I am alright, Erik," Christine said, as Erik gently deposited her on the bed.

 _Alright? Alright! No, it was not alright, she was not alright!_

Erik left the Louise-Phillipe room without a word, his fists clenching and unclenching. He went to the bathroom and took the box he kept in the cabinets for the medical supplies, as his jaw started to hurt because of the force with which Erik kept gritting his teeth.

 _Let it hurt._

He returned to the room with the wooden box on his hands, with his head still swimming in gloomy thoughts, to find that Christine had already taken off her slipper and was inspecting the swollen area. Erik stared for a moment, amazed at the sight and momentarily forgetting any self-loathing: he had never seen a living woman's foot, not even covered by the stocking. It was almost shocking to see that women had feet under all those layers of skirts that in a good, miraculous and precious day would lift ever so slightly to show the mere sole of a woman's slipper when she walked around the street. Those beautiful but damning dresses had no mercy, merely tempting a starving, powerless man like him to see the beautiful silhouette that those tight corsets formed on the stunning bodies of women, but never, ever touching.

The poor girl, perhaps feeling his intense stare over the colorful pattern of her stocking, raised her head and locked eyes with him for just a second before a sweet, embarrassed blush overtook her face and her clumsy hands quickly covered with the skirts the damaged foot.

A mirroring blush appeared on his decaying face and neck, and not for the first time since Christine started living with him, he felt relieved that he still wore a mask, even at her insistence that he did not need to wear it near her.

He cleared his throat and said:

"It- it looks slightly swollen, Christine."

Christine looked up to him again, still standing awkwardly at the entrance of her room. Her blush had diminished, though his remained visible in the top of his ears and what little was uncovered of his usually pale neck.

"It is nothing, truly," she said, but in Erik's ears, there was only the faint sound of her quiet complaint when she had tried to stand up when they were in the tunnels.

"Nonsense." He said curtly, "We need to treat your wound, Christine."

Erik's eyes, completely hidden by both the deformity that made it seem like he had no eyes at all and the barbed mask that hid his shame, darted away from the precious girl with the innocent eyes before saying his next words:

"I need you to take your stockings off, please," he said, slowly articulating every syllable in his uncooperative tongue unless he ended up chocking on the words.

His Christine might be a pure, divine angel, but he was not: he was a man of flesh and blood, even if his disgusting corpse of a body seemed to have neither the former nor the latter in its insides. He was a man asking the lady he loved to take an article of her clothing off. Medical reasons and logic be damned, his cheeks still burned with a palpable embarrassment, and his mind undesirably wandered to forbidden grounds. He had to clasp the box tighter in his grip to avoid his fingers twitching and moving anxiously, as they so commonly tended to do.

"But, Erik, that is… it is not…" her lovely face turned a shade darker in red, as Erik's gaze remained fixed on the Persian carpet. He could not look at her. "That would be… indecent."

Oh, sweet girl! She had no need to state the obvious: it was a fact that already consumed Erik alive! Erik's hands tightened ever so slightly in their hold of the box, keeping him chained to the surface and not letting his absurd, childish embarrassment overtake him. He was being ridiculous!

"Your health is a bigger concern for me, Christine," Erik said, miraculously keeping his voice as soft as always, "I assure you I shall do nothing that would make Erik any less of a gentleman in your eyes."

She seemed to consider it for a moment, before slowly nodding her head. For some reason, her quite acceptance took a weight off his chest and made the air come more easily to his lungs.

"Can you… Could you please turn around, meanwhile?" Christine asked, accepting his words as true. They, an unmarried man and an unmarried woman who shared no blood relationship, had lived together under the same roof for two weeks, and in all that time, Erik had proven himself to be nothing but a gentleman.

Erik turned around without saying a word. His eyes might have been fixed in the shelf of the far wall, seeing without observing the little seashells that his mother so obsessively collected, but his mind was stuck to a single image: his beautiful, perfect future bride in his bed –which was not his, and in which he had never slept a single night, but for the sake of his fantasy he would consider it his tonight- raising her skirts more and more, revealing each time more of the silk, white skin, until-

"Erik…?" she called in a small voice, "can you please help me?"

Erik turned around without even thinking. Her wishes were his command; her word, his law.

But oh, lord, was there a more painful way to punish the starved than serving a meal, and allowing him only to gaze? Couldn't God see his hunger all the way to heaven?

Christine sat on his bed, with her hurt leg extended and exposed in front of her and the other hidden safely under her skirt. One of her arms kept a bunch of her skirts up, and the other struggled to reach her half-way-down stocking.

"I- I can't reach it," she explained senselessly. Her face turned red once more as she looked guiltily to her half-rolled down stocking, "I can't move my leg without hurting my ankle and I can't reach the stocking because of the… of the corset, and…"

She stumbled over her own words, as her little fingers tried in vain to reach the cloth, wiggling in their desperation. It would have almost been cute if it were not for the half-uncovered leg that kept trapping Erik's attention like a spider web traps the flies.

"Could you… could you? Help me, I meant," Christine stammered.

 _Oh, lord above…_

"Of course, Christine," he answered calmly. His knuckles were white under the leather gloves.

Erik walked stiffly towards Christine, leaving the box on the bed near them and sitting near her uncovered leg. It was so beautiful… tempting him to touch it in its dizzying, pure, feminine beauty… only hidden from his complete gaze by the thin, thin layer of clothing that was her stocking… the one he was about to take off…

His trembling hands approached her and stopped over her leg mere centimeters away from it. Oh, god, he was about to touch Christine's naked _leg_. Would it be wrong of him to enjoy it? He was trying to convince himself that this was nothing but a medical procedure, but the fact was that for him it was everything but that. He would apply the medicine, bandage her ankle, and leave her. Yes, that's it. He would leave her to rest and would prepare her a warm meal. Yes. He would leave her and go compose something to distract his mind –and body- from the betraying desires. Yes. He would do absolutely nothing else because he _was a gentleman and gentlemen did nothing else._

But surely he was allowed to enjoy it, _right?_ She would be his wife one day –even if she didn't know it yet-, so it surely wouldn't be so bad…

Erik took his gloves off, revealing the ghastly, stinking and bony hand underneat, and refused to make eye contact with Christine. He would lose all bravery if he saw those beautiful, innocent eyes, unaware of all the perverted thoughts in his mind. His mind, Erik's mind. Erik's perverted mind, not his.

Then, as sudden as lightning illuminating the sky, he was sure of something: if she was to be his wife one day, as she absolutely shall be, then surely he must have no guilt, for all lovers love each other with their bodies as much as with their hearts. Yes, no guilt; no guilt at all! But it was easier to think than to believe.

He took her calf with stiff fingers, and carefully raised her leg off the bed to avoid hurting her further and made it rest on his lap, with an almost spasmic shudder hitting him like an electric shock at the contact, at the _thought_ that one of Christine's perfect legs was on his lap, and the other was at his back.

He did not look, he _devoured_ the way the skirt slowly lowered inch by inch up her leg, until her perfect knee stood naked before his eyes. Slowly, with trembling, clumsy fingers he rolled down the rest of the stocking, marveling at each centimeter of white skin that appeared before him. He nearly sighed in anticipation to touch her warm skin with his cold and dead hand, ignoring the stomach-turning sensation of shame and guilt at his perverted thoughts.

Yet, guilt had never been enough for him to stop his actions, and neither would it stop him now.

"I need to remove completely the stocking," Erik said in a hushed, melodious tone thrown directly at her right. She closed her eyes momentarily at his voice, as a shudder traveled down her spine. He could hardly breathe. "Please, lay down and hold your leg up for Erik, dear."

Her face shone in scarlet, but nodded obediently and absently, slowly letting her body fall down to the mattress, with her golden hair pooling around her precious head in the pillow as the pin in her hair fell, and holding her leg up without Erik's support. Savoring each movement, Erik took completely off the stoking.

Her completely naked leg and foot almost made him gasp.

He cleaned and bandaged Christine's wound with the precision and cold blood of a professional, forcing his mind to keep focused; his nervousness masked under a layer of seriousness. His sunken features hid the way his eyes unavoidably left his work and devoured everything his disgusting gaze could catch. His hands trembled in a horrible combination of self-hate and lust.

"It is done," Erik said, lowering her leg to once again let it rest on his lap. He absently rested his hand over her leg.

"Thank you, Erik," Christine said with a sweet, soft smile gracing her beautiful face. His thumb started to rub small circles on her skin. His heart shuddered in disgust; in shame at the electricity that shook him to the core with each touch of their skins. His poor dear! Injured because of Erik! He shouldn't think what he thought. He should hate himself for this, for his poor Christine had suffered pain because of his negligence. He should hate himself for this, for he was rejoicing in her touch, taking advantage of her! Sinful, sinful Erik!

"Oh, Christine…" he said, choking down a sob, "your poor ankle… it is all Erik's fault… he shouldn't have left you, he shouldn't… please, forgive your poor Erik… forgive him for what he's doing…"

"Erik, do not blame yourself; it is I who let go of you. I am sorry," Christine answered. Her reassuring smile, so perfect and so delicate and so _his_ almost drove him mad. He felt he could drown in those blue eyes whenever they looked at him like that, with all their beauty and splendor tended freely for his and only his gaze to take.

"No, Christine, no," he said, "it was Erik. Foolish, old Erik! Please, forgive him!"

Without thinking, Erik took Christine's foot by the heel, and raised her bandaged ankle to his horrid face, reverently kissing just above the damaged area over and over again, as he had done with the hem of her dress the night they met.

"I am sorry, I am sorry," he said, kissing more and more her leg, his intense kisses slowly but deliberately traveling up her leg as his other hand gently massaged her calf.

Her skin against his horrible, half-lipless mouth was a blessing, even through the silk of his mask. Fresh water in the middle of a desert; shelter in the middle of a storm.

And Erik could not stop himself. Any form of rational thought had been eliminated from his head by the blinding, deafening, muting sensation of his lips painting silent worships over her skin at the other side of the mask. His eyes closed in unrepressed bliss as his beg for forgiveness between desperate kisses died in his throat. It was overwhelming, and the sensation of Christine's proximity was intoxicating.

His hand moved up, sliding across her skin like the finest of silks; his gaze fixed on his horrible, scrawny fingers gently caressing her vulnerable skin. He had never felt something as soft and enticing as the skin of her knee, as his hand slipped to where her gathered skirts pooled around her.

He couldn't handle it any further. He had once sworn to himself that he would never dare to taint Christine's pure body with his ghastly touch, and he had broken that vow just now, with his naked flesh touching hers. He had also sworn that he would never take from her something as intimate as a kiss. He dismissively thought that it would not matter now, either.

Erik left the warmth of her skin just a second to rip off the constrictive barbed mask before returning once again to kiss her, this time with no barrier between them. He groaned in pleasure at the feel of her finally and unrestrictedly against his almost-lips, his body immediately responding.

She made a soft gasp, but remained in silence. Erik took that as a permission to proceed when his hand found the first of the many barriers that separated them still. Just above her knee, the white lace of her pantalets showed its hem. It was just so beautifully feminine.

"Oh, Christine, it is so beautiful…" Erik breathed, his eager hand starting once again to move up towards her center, more desperately now, wanting nothing more but to get rid of the cloth. His fingers were mere centimeters away from the opening in her pantalets.

"E- Erik!" exclaimed Christine, so suddenly that Erik's eyes and hands were forcefully torn away from the sea of lace and ribbons. "You –you cannot do that, Erik. It… It… is inappropriate. We are not even courting!"

"Of course we are," replied Erik defensively, "Erik told you when he first brought you to his home: one has the dates one can. That was our first date, my love, and we are courting now. I gave you flowers. I bought you gifts. That is courting, is it not?"

Before Christine could reply, Erik's voracious hands and lips were once again on her.

"But –but, Erik," she interrupted once again. Her interruptions were starting to ignite a small flame of annoyance in him, although completely overshadowed by the one of lust. "Does that not make this even less appropriate?"

"No, no, dear, no," he said, using that tone of voice that he knew would pacify her. It had always worked. "This is love, my dear, and love is never wrong. Please, Christine, just allow your Erik this blessing."

 _This_ was not a sin; it could not be, no when it was so filled with love. God would never punish love.

And before Christine could reply, Erik climbed on top of her, supporting his dangerously scrawny body with his elbow while the other hand, still under the layers of skirts and petticoats, finally found her, cupping her. She opened her mouth to gasp in surprise, but before any sound could leave her throat, Erik's half-lips were on hers, kissing and devouring desperately and clumsily.

Teeth and lips clashed against each other, and in his hunger he did not even care enough to angle his head and spare her of the horrid sensation of the missing part of his upper lip.

His hand, between her legs and between their bodies, started to rub up and down, up and down; clumsy in its inexperience but determined in its need. A single finger entered her folds, and Erik groaned at the hot sensation, so opposite to his deadly coldness. He broke away the desperate kiss just a second, panting like a madman, before kissing her once again.

His finger traveled up, exploring her like he had never explored the wonders of a woman's body before, until he found a little button that immediately teared away a high-pitched whimper from Christine's precious throat. He broke again the kiss.

"What is it, what...?" he murmured with his lips against her beautiful, inviting jaw. He stroked again the little pearl. "You're so dry, my love. We can't… we need to fix that…"

His hand left her center, moving up her body until he reached her face, with his thumb under her chin and his fingers over her lips. Erik bit her neck lightly, and Christine gasped again. His middle and ring fingers entered her mouth.

"Suck." His tongue passed over the shell of her ear. She obeyed.

Her lips closed around his fingers, sucking and twisting her tongue around them. Erik nibbled on her lobule, releasing a moan that sent shivers down her spine. Her little teasing tongue around his fingers only aroused him more.

Erik's fingers, dripping on her hot saliva, returned to the aperture in her pantalets, rubbing once again against that little button of flesh that had fascinated him so much and finding easier to slip against her folds. His erection pressed against her thigh involuntarily, and he was barely able to suppress a moan at the unexpected sensation and her surprised gasp. Perhaps his little Christine was not so pure of mind, then, if she knew exactly how the body of a man worked.

"We need to take this dress off, don't you think?" he whispered. Without letting her answer, both hands immediately started fumbling with her clothes, unbuttoning and opening layer after layer that only added more and more to Erik's need and desperation.

Enraged and frustrated at the seemingly endless clothing, Erik tore apart Christine's petticoats, stopping at the sound of her little scream.

"Erik will buy you more," he said, kissing her again to silence her, "Erik will buy you many, many more. All you want…"

He slipped his hand inside her chemise, raising goosebumps across her abdomen in its way, and finally took one of Christine's breasts. Her nipple was hard, digging in his bony palm as he massaged and squeezed gently, his head spinning with delight at the heavenly, divine softness. Erik's hips automatically trusted against her thigh again, and he saw from the corner of his eye how her toes curled on the bed at his side and her knee pressed against his morbidly protuberant ribs. Although her hands were fisted on the bedsheets at her sides and her lips were shut in a perfect line, she was trying to pull him closer.

"Sit down," he ordered, moving away from her just enough for her to follow his order. He took her chemise off, and finally her marvelous upper body was free for his demonic eyes to devour.

Immediately his mouth lowered to her body, angling his head to take in with the left side of his mouth –where his lips were complete- the precious, pink nipple that stood so firmly and erect for him. It was driving him mad with need, teasing and tempting him in its timid beauty. He hardly heard the small gasp that escaped her lips, too concentrated in his silent worship of her body, savoring the way she fitted so perfectly in his mouth, between is teeth, on his tongue and against the roof of his mouth.

His lips sucked hard and long, wildly, desperately; kissing the perfect little nub with almost the same reverence and nibbling it with the utmost care. It was a treasure, a masterpiece; the most beautiful and exquisite thing to ever exist in the whole world. His other hand alternated between caressing and pinching and twisting the other nipple, occasionally taking the whole breast to cup and squeeze, making her shudder and bite her own lip. She wanted this as much as him, even he could tell, yet she said nothing, did nothing. He wanted her hands all over him, touching him, teasing him; her mouth doing unspeakable sins to his perverted body.

But all she did was gasp softly and release shaky breathes. That would have to change once they married, because Erik could not have a dead, unloving wife like that. But that was a matter for another day. Right now, all that mattered was the delicious, precious breasts at his mercy, and the burning need that was consuming him.

Erik let go of Christine's breasts and placed his ugly hand on her chest, pushing gently to make her lay back again. He towered over her once more, and kissed and bit his way down to her center. Taking her legs by the knees, he gently opened them for him, careful to not harm her injured ankle any further.

If Erik had not been so overwhelmed with lust, he might have cried at the beautiful sight of her. So pink, so hot, so _feminine_. A _woman_. A _living_ woman!

He couldn't help himself, and had to kiss her, her blonde hair tickling where his nose should have been.

"Oh, Christine, this is so beautiful…" he whispered between gentle kisses, his mouth and chin dripping in her juices. His tongue darted out without his permission, and lightly licked that little nub between her legs that had caused a little whimper of discomfort earlier. This time, it only provoked a moan that Christine quickly tried to hide behind her hands.

"Do not deprive your Erik of such beautiful sounds, Christine," he murmured, before trying again to tear away another precious moan by circling his tongue and capturing between his lips the little nub, "Let your body _sing,_ Christine Daaé."

He continued tasting her with lips and tongue, his fingers joining his mouth to tease her. Oh, he was so _close_ to where he yearned to be –his body could hardly control itself, and the trousers were so _painfully_ tight-, that he couldn't stop his tongue from entering. Immediately Christine tensed, but was unable to control another moan.

"Be calm, Christine, it is alright," he murmured, momentarily taking his tongue out. He gave another long, slow lick that immediately made her head fall back into the pillows before trying again. His tongue pulled in and out, exploring every centimeter that he could reach inside her, his head delirious with the mere thought of how that same place would feel around a different part of his anatomy.

He took his tongue out to replace it with one of his long, bony and yellowish fingers, slowly entering her to prepare her for him. She was so slick that his finger entered without resistance. Her moans was music for his ears.

"You are ready, my love; Erik cannot wait any longer," he whispered, kissing one last time her dripping center before standing on his knees to quickly undo the buttons on his trousers. Christine opened her eyes at that moment and quickly grabbed his sleeve before he could do anything. It was the first time she had moved to reach him since _this_ had begun.

"Christine…"

"You… are… dressed…" she said between quick breathes. Her face was an adorable, virginal pink, but her eyes were dark behind the cloud of lust.

"And Erik will remain so," he said, and gently took her hand away from him. He might be drowsy with desire, but he had not forgotten how disgustingly horrible he was. The less she saw of him, the better.

Erik quickly finished unbuttoning his trousers, messing up the buttons more than once in his excitement for what was to come and his nearly-suffocating nerves.

He took himself out before her, feeling relief the moment his constrictive pants stopped pressing him down. He was so hard he was nearly unable to repress the instinct of finishing the job himself with his own hand.

Immediately, Erik felt Christine's eyes on him, observing and exploring with her gaze his manhood, just like he had devoured her with his eyes earlier. He quickly climbed on top of her again, blocking her view and kissing her lips passionately. He did not want her looking at him. While he was sure that he not only was perfectly _normal_ in that aspect, but also well-endowed, he still did not want her to look: not at his hands, not at his face, and much less to… anywhere else. The last thing he needed now, when he was so deliriously happy and secure –he felt like a man, like a _proper man_ for the first time in his life-, was to suddenly remember all his insecurities.

Once they married, they would have time to discuss all that. Right now, there was only one thing he needed; one thing they _both_ needed.

With one of his hands firmly grabbing her breast, he slowly lowered to her entrance, grabbing his throbbing manhood to guide himself in with his other hand. He rubbed the tip against her folds, and the most powerful sensation of pleasure ran through him, raising goosebumps on his decayed skin and making a shudder ran down his spine. His hips gave an impulsive trust, but he did not enter her; not yet.

Erik looked at her one last time, but her head was turned in the pillows, her hands fisted in the bedsheets again. She was not asking him to stop, even when he positioned himself at her entrance.

He thought that, even if she had, he could have not been able to do it. He gave one quick trust, and he was inside of her.

She screamed, and it was almost enough to make him jerk away and beg on his knees for her forgiveness, but oh, it felt so _good_ and he was so _selfish_ that he could not force himself to leave paradise so soon.

"Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me," he murmured, kissing over and over again her naked shoulder, while his hand fisted painfully on the pillow besides her head to repress the overwhelming urge to _move_ inside of her. Oh, she was so _tight_ and _burning_.

It seemed to pass an eternity before Christine relaxed again under him, and her head slowly nodded. He ignored the tears he saw in the corners of her eyes. He would have time to feel guilty later.

His hips seemed to know what to do, taking him in and out of her in a rhythmic, maddening pace; slow at first for her comfort but quickly accelerating, unable to control it. Sweat fell down his terrible brow, giving him an even more disgusting appearance under the light of the gas lamps, as his face contorted in an ugly expression that exposed the immeasurable pleasure that shook him to the core. He was hardly aware of the distant sounds leaving their lips in unison, like a perfect melody that belonged to them and only them.

He opened his eyes in the middle of his pleasure, not stopping nor slowing –he couldn't, even if he had tried: this was more powerful than him- and looked down to them, to where they unite, and couldn't avoid tears to gather in his sunken eyes: his clammy, bony hands filled with overly protuberant blueish veins, only lightly covered by the thin layer of a yellowish, decaying skin, grabbed her perfect, pure skin without fear, as if they _belonged_ on her hip, on her breast. His hideous half-lipless mouth that exposed the crooked teeth in a permanent sneer fit so _perfectly_ with her own pink lips. His revolting acid odor of death that seemed to clung to him wherever he went mixed with the smell of her sweat, of her skin, of her juices, and of her hair surrounded them.

Tears of happiness fell down his terrible, repulsive face as he gave one last trust and finished inside of her. The orgasm seemed to shatter every cell, every atom in his body, as his back straightened and his throat released one of the most beautiful sounds that Christine had ever heard.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he murmured against the skin of her neck, feeling under his terrible lips her quick heartbeat and accelerated breaths of the woman he loved, with his own throat hardly able to produce words at all. He took his hand between their bodies to stroke that sensitive nub of nerves as he got out of her, completely empty. It only took her a few seconds before she too reached the climax, arching her back and releasing one of the most beautiful sounds that Erik had ever heard.

The only sound that could ever compare in beauty to the one Christine Daaé made while reaching her pleasure, was the one that came right after:

"I love you too, Erik."

 **-0-**

 **Author's note:**

I needed more Leroux-based smut in my life, so I fixed the problem. You're welcome.

Would I wish for this to have happened? Hell yes. Do I think this _could_ have happened? Not in a million years. (This dude wouldn't have lasted that much, to begin with. He died of a _kiss on the forehead, people._ ) But you know, poor Leroux Erik deserved some action, and Christine too, after all she went through. This was supposed to be a super hard dub-con, but well, I'm a romantic at heart and couldn't avoid adding that bit of sweetness at the end, oops!

Reviews, please:)! Be gentle, this was my first smut ever!


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